The Promise
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: Frankie made a promise to Grace, one she no longer feels able to keep. A little piece of New Year angst. Boyd/Grace


**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating: K**

**Happy New Year to you all! Thank you once again for taking the time to read this fic and a massive thank you to Joodiff for doing what Joodiff does so incredibly well! Oh and maybe I should warn you ….. it's a little bit angsty.**

**The Promise**

The bitter chill of the icy winter wind whips unbridled around us as we stand in silent contemplation. Four figures in solidarity, joined by proximity but entirely lost to one another, each isolated by our own personal grief.

I slowly open my eyes, immediately aware of the reaction the prevailing light has upon them. The sting of tears mixing with the harshness of the low December sun implores the need to blink rapidly. I long to once again plunge myself into the quiet calm of darkness but instead I force my bowed head to rise enabling me to observe my fellow mourners.

Spencer Jordan stares forlornly at the muddy ground beneath him, his broad form in his dark designer suit casting an ominous shadow. His face reflects a hardness which, unless you knew it was his way of coping, you could mistake as being cold and uncaring. But he cares. He cares for her and for us. He has been so strong and supportive, comforting each of us as we have needed, sometimes to his own detriment. Inside Spencer is hurting. He loved her unequivocally. She was like a second mother to him. Encouraging and chastising. She could say things to him that he never would have allowed another person to say and still remain upright, but from Grace he took it. When Grace castigated Spence, it stung him more violently than a thousand scorpions. He would sulk for days, not because he was angry with her for saying it, in the way he would be with Boyd, but because he felt he had let her down… and Spence hated to disappoint her.

He longed to please, to prove to her that he was cut from the same cloth as Boyd. For her part, I know that Grace was dreadfully fond of Spencer, and I often heard her take his part in arguments with Boyd, even at times when everyone else in the office knew that Spence was on very shaky ground. I have no doubt that Grace was acutely aware of this too; she was very astute, but there was no denying the protective instinct she had towards Spence. He feels my stare, and as he lifts his eyes in my direction his lips begin to curl to offer a small smile of reassurance. I gently return it, and silently tell him that I understand, that it's okay for him to grieve, that he doesn't need to be strong, not today. He drops his head again, afraid of what I might see displayed in his eyes. I hope he realises how proud Grace was of him. I hope she had the opportunity to let him know.

A sharp intake of breath causes me to incline my head towards the figure directly to my left; my counterpart. Her long dark hair cascades forward, falling across her bowed head almost covering her face completely, but there is no doubt that she is crying. I have heard quite a lot about Eve Lockhart, mostly from Grace. At first she was unsure of the new pathologist. Grace, in many ways, was old school and hated change. When I first left the Unit every time we'd meet she'd ask me to reconsider and assure me that if I did, she would 'sort it with Boyd'. I know that she would have done, too. Grace Foley could get Boyd to agree to most things, and had I not been in the middle of a vital research project when Felix left, I may have done just that. However, through the years Grace's warmth for Eve grew, and she no longer asked if I would re-consider returning to the CCU. Her affection for the pathologist was evident as we chatted over the last few months, so much so that I felt a little bit jealous of their increasingly close relationship. Maybe Grace sensed it, because towards the end she told me that she was never happier than when the old team were together, just before… Mel.

I swallow hard against the lump that is pressing against my windpipe as suddenly I am hit with a renewed wave of grief still as intensely raw as it was all those years ago. This ache is not for Grace however, but for Mel.

Mel and Grace had had a strange relationship. If Grace was a mother figure to Spence, then Mel was definitely a Daddy's girl. Boyd's affection for her was evident. The baby of the team, he went a long way to protect her. But it wasn't enough. I know he still blames himself for what happened to her. Grace told me that he admitted that the day Mel died was one of the bleakest days in his entire policing career. He never got over it, not fully. I blamed him at the time. Blamed him entirely for everything. For sending her in the first place, for making me process the scene. She was my best friend and he made me see her lying in a pool of her own blood, broken. I hated him for a time. It was Grace who made me understand that he was only trying to do his job. She explained how he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching Mel, treating her with disrespect. Once my anger had subsided I felt only sadness for Boyd, a sadness that has remained with me to this day. He will carry on questioning and blaming himself, probably for the rest of his life. Losing Mel was hard for him, I can see that now, and when Luke died it almost broke him completely - and now Grace. How much can one man take?

I find my mind wandering of its own accord through the darkest recesses of my memories replaying scenes from years which have long since passed. Conversations and observations that had given rise to much eyebrow-raising and girlish giggling in the squad room - now tainted with bitter poignancy.

For as long as I can remember they were a formidable team, Boyd and Grace. When you found one, it wasn't long before the other invariably showed up. Like all the best double-acts they instinctively knew what the other was thinking, how they worked, and almost daily they would use each other as a sounding board, bouncing theories, ideas, and hypotheses off one another constantly. Often this led to strong disagreements and harsh words being carefully aimed and delivered in order to hit the target with the optimum impact. Yet for all of their bluster, none of us ever doubted the extent of their adoration of one another. Their relationship was grounded in mutual trust, and no matter how closely they sailed to the wind they always ended up at the same destination. Side by side, completely together.

I feel myself shiver as renewed reality trickles down my spine like ice cold water chilling my bones to the core. Boyd without Grace is unthinkable.

My eyes fall heavily on the face of my former leader, the pallor of his skin invoking an audible intake of breath. The healthy glow has been replaced by an ashen tone, made all the more noticeable by the taunt gauntness of the cheekbones that languish beneath his unkempt beard. His eyes, once deep and full of passion, now only reflect a defeated emptiness; cavernous and bleak. He has lost weight; his expensive, immaculate suit now hanging loosely from the plains and sinews of his body. I doubt he is eating properly, if indeed at all, choosing the false momentary escape that alcohol provides over the much needed nourishment of food. Genuine shock at how withdrawn he has become rises from deep within me. In front of me stands a very, very, broken man, but this is not just any man, this man is Peter Boyd. For years he has been the epitome of strength, dogged determination, stubbornness and resilience, now he's just a shadow - a tiny echo - of what he once was.

He looks old, the years finally catching up and surpassing him. I don't need to be a doctor to know instinctively that he won't be able to continue much longer in the state he is in, but he obstinately refuses any offer of help. The darkness that fleets across his eyes and the heavy set of his jaw whenever he's approached is enough to still the kindest of souls from pursing their good intentions any further. I truly believe he welcomes the pain that is ravishing him as some sort of misplaced atonement - for what, I'm unsure, but he is determined to readily accept the guilt and blame from the ghosts that constantly accuse him. Spencer reckons that Boyd is drinking heavily and has already voiced how unsurprised he'd be if he eventually drank himself to death. Boyd has given up on this life. Is too disillusioned to fight back against the perpetual heartache it continually throws at him. I suspect Spence is right. Boyd wants to follow her.

I haven't seen him cry, his public tears locked glassily behind his dark obstinate orbs, but the redness of his eyes betray his stoicism. I know that he has cried, of that there is no doubt, probably long and hard. For her; for him. For all they were and for all they could have been had either been brave enough to lower their defences and lay themselves vulnerable before the other.

She loved him devotedly. Yes, Grace finally admitted her true feelings, albeit too late and to the wrong person, but Boyd has remained stubbornly silent, even now. But even though he may not have uttered the words, or made any public declaration of undying love, those who know him, those of us standing around this open grave, know full well the extent of his feelings for Grace. It is etched harrowingly across his face.

I hear Grace's voice reverberate painfully through my mind, her words carrying with them a renewed desolation. Our final conversation. She'd been quite lucid, a time before the morphine stole her away. Maybe she was aware of more than we thought; maybe she'd needed to purge herself of the secret she had so carefully hidden; protected. Whatever the reason, during our last conversation, Grace had been more candid than ever before.

_"Did you never think of marrying again?" _

_Grace immediately dismissed the notion with a shake of her head. "No," she replied after a beat, "I've always known there was only one man for me." Her voice echoed a resigned sadness but there was a wistfulness wrapped tentatively around her words that had caused me to prompt further. _

_"Laurence?" I asked and watched as Grace's face clouded over at the mention of her ex-husband's name. Her knowing eyes fixed a hardened glare on me as she silently held my gaze. A myriad of emotions swept briefly across the sapphire plains. Confusion? Disappointment? Regret? Anger? For a few moments I was sure that I was about to succumb to Grace's infamous temper which flared rarely but left the recipient in no doubt of her feelings - yet it did not come. The cloud lifted almost as swiftly as it had descended, taking with it the ghost of pretence. Her lips pulled in a soft smile as if in anticipation of the huge secret they were about to finally release. Slowly she shook her head once again and breathlessly whispered, "Peter."_

_It took me a few moments to register what she had just admitted, the use of his first name momentarily confusing me. Suddenly I knew exactly who it was she referred to. _

_"Boyd?" I exclaimed unable to hide my surprise, and yet deep down I realised that I wasn't surprised at all, not really. _

_"Oh, don't look so shocked, Frankie, I haven't been that good at hiding how I felt about him." _

_"Does he know?" I asked, my mind still reeling from her admission._

_"No! And you mustn't tell him." Her frail hand reached across the bed and covered mine. "Promise me you won't; please, Frankie," she implored as her eyes searched mine for reassurance. _

_"Don't you think he has a right to know?"_

_"And do you think that would be fair on him? We both know what the outcome of this God-forsaken illness will be. He's been through enough without having to deal with the unrequited love of a dying old woman."_

_"I'm not so sure it's unrequited..."_

_Her face shrouded with a darkened shadow as she seemingly considered my words. "No matter," she dismissed with a wave of her hand, "he doesn't need to know, not now or ever, and you must promise me you will never tell him."_

_I nodded my head in silent agreement, suppressing the sadness that encroached so heavily infused with the weight of missed opportunity. So many times Boyd and Grace's relationship had been the centre of office speculation and now, finally, Grace had confirmed what we had all suspected - and it was too late.  
_  
That afternoon, in Grace's bedroom, the promise I'd made had seemed so easy. Which one of us wouldn't respect the wishes of a dying woman, and as I had no reason to see Boyd it didn't seem much of a secret to hold. Yet standing here now, faced with his brokenness, I know that I shouldn't have been such a willing accomplice. The extent of his feelings for Grace is painfully engraved on his face. He needs to know that he was loved unreservedly. He needs to know that Grace loved him.

I take my opportunity when Spencer begins to move, putting his arm around Eve to lead her away. As he looks at me expectantly I motion my head towards Boyd and Spence nods in understanding. After waiting for a few moments for them to leave I slowly approach him. Reaching out I touch his arm gently.

"Boyd …"

"Huh?" He starts under my touch. Wherever his mind was wandering to, it was a million miles away from this bleak, freezing graveyard.

"Are you okay?" Even as I hear the words leave my lips I know how asinine they sound.

His eyes, filled with deep sorrow, meet mine, silently holding my gaze. "I… I'm fine; thanks, Frankie."

So much pain. So much grief. So much sadness.

"I know how much you're going to miss her."

He gently smiles in acknowledgement. "Yes, yes I am," he softly admits.

I watch as his eyes fall once again on the grave beside us and am more convinced than ever that he needs to know how Grace felt. Taking a deep cleansing breath I close my eyes and whisper a silent apology for my betrayal.

"She loved you, you know?" I begin, conscious of the promise I am about to break. "…Was in love with you."

Boyd's head lifts swiftly as he searches my face in confusion. His eyes narrow and I can see him attempting to decipher if what I'm saying is true. "What do you mean?" he asks, uncertainty permeating his words.

"Grace was in love with you, Boyd; had been for years."

"And she told you this, I suppose?"

"Yes, she did and she made me promise never to tell you."

"When?"

"Huh?"

"When did she tell you this?" I can hear the impatience rising in his tone as he speaks.

"The last time I spoke with her, just before things got really bad."

He shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. "Why didn't she want me to know?" he asks.

"She didn't want you to feel obligated to feel sorry for a dying old woman."

"She really thought that?" Definite hurt reverberates in his reply.

"She just thought it would be easier for you if you never knew. That somehow she was protecting you in her own way. Grace knew that she was dying, Boyd; she didn't want to cause you anymore heartache than she already had."

"You should have told me, Frankie. I deserved the right to have been able to make that decision for myself."

"I know. She made me promise. It seemed the right thing to do."

"Typical Grace, always thinking she knows best."

"She denied herself, Boyd..."

"She denied us both, Frankie!" A brief flicker of passion rises once again in his eyes as he speaks, but is quickly extinguished.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have told you, but I felt you had a right to know. She was totally devoted to you, and I suspect you felt the same for her."

He doesn't answer, not audibly, but he doesn't have to. We both know that he loved her every bit as much as she did him.

I shiver in the chill. Wrapping my arms around myself, I say, "It's getting cold, I'm going to head back to the car; are you coming?"

He shakes his head as he replies, "No, I'm going to say here for a few more minutes more; you go on ahead."

I reach up and brush my lips against the side of his cheek. "Please, promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

"Goodbye, Frankie," is his only reply.

As I walk along the gravel path I hear her whispered name as it catches in the breeze and blows softly into the dying light.

"Oh, Grace ….."

Boyd attempts to stifle his agonising cry as he quietly speaks her name, but his resolve dissipates, dissolving into heartbroken sobs. I look back to where he is, his once strong shoulders hunched in weary defeat as he stands alone at the side of her grave. I momentarily consider going to him, comforting him, but I innately know that he wouldn't welcome it. He needs to be alone with her one final time, so I still… but am unable to remove my gaze.

I feel the blood turn to ice within my veins as my mind lurches forward in stark realisation and fear. Somehow I am acutely aware that it won't be long before I stand in this place again saying goodbye to another old friend.

She will be waiting for him of course, and with a single roll of her eyes she will berate him for stubbornly following her, and yet love him entirely for doing so. He will simply smile that boyish, mischievous grin, the one that renders her completely weak and defenceless to all his charms and will instantly earn himself forgiveness. It will only be then, when they have been eternally reunited, that these two restless souls will finally be at peace.

Fin


End file.
